


Two Drifters (Off To See The World)

by vanceypants



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends, Gen, I don't even know how to label this one, I was listening to Moon River on repeat and this was the result, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Squip is a Corpse Retrieval Bot, squip is an android in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanceypants/pseuds/vanceypants
Summary: Squip wasn’t certain what was more surprising on this job: finding someone still breathing, or realizing the lone survivor was none other than Rich, the source of Jeremy’s amusement and Squip’s simulated migraines.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Jeremy Heere's Squip, Rich Goranski & Jeremy Heere's Squip
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Two Drifters (Off To See The World)

**Author's Note:**

> God I hope this mess makes sense...  
> Enjoy! Thank you for taking the time to click!

“You ever see _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_?”

In the three hours they’d been in this basement, Squip had waited patiently for the thick smell of smoke and shattered drywall dust to fade into a dull background sense. Surely such prolonged proximity would make him immune to it.

Unfortunately, the scent throbbed within his artificial nose, a not-quite-human sensation of debris and toxins burrowing deep into his circuit boards. He’d need to see a technician for a deep cleaning after this job.

“Well? Have you? Audrey fuckin Hepburn?”

Much like the smoke, the continued irritation of Rich Goranski had yet to fade out of his awareness.

“I’m aware of its existence.”

“Yeah, but have you seen it?”

“I don’t like movies.”

It was a constant subject of frustration between himself and Jeremy, his distaste for cinematic achievements. Jeremy insisted that film was a pivotal human achievement. Squip insisted it was all lights and technology, and if Jeremy wanted to marvel at technology, he may as well take Squip back into the bedroom and see a real miracle at work.

It usually didn’t result in a favorable outcome. But Squip went through the motions of the tired argument each time all the same.

“How can you not like movies?”

“Didn’t you agree to be quiet until the paramedics arrive?”

Rich huffed, blowing a strand of his hair from his bloody, smoke-stained face. The fire had toppled the three story structure into a pile of rebar and concrete slabs. Squip and his crew had already extracted seven of the deceased from the wreckage before he’d dug his way into what he’d assumed had once been a basement. While above, everything had been crumbled into compacted piles, here there was enough room for Squip to sit up on his knees without hitting his head on the wreckage above.

It was likely the fact that Rich had been in this basement that kept him from being corpse number eight. Then again, if he was corpse number eight, Squip would have at least been able to do his job.

“Quiet is boring though.”

Squip reached for his communicator again. His attempts to contact any of his peers, and with any emergency services, still produced nothing but static. And he dared not attempt to move the heavy slabs which lay over Rich’s legs and torso, lest he make things worse. He wasn’t even certain he’d been programmed with the strength needed to perform such a task.

He suspected he could, though, considering he was able to carry literal dead weight so easily. He placed his walky-talky back into its holster, and not for the first time wondered if the Deceased Retrieval Commission had only provided them with utility belts of equipment for the look it provided, rather than any sense of functionality.

“Once my captain realizes I’ve been missing for this long, he’ll send someone in to—why am I repeating this? I have said this numerous times now. Are you incapable of listening?”

“Dude, what does Jeremy see in you?”

Squip wasn’t certain what was more surprising on this job: finding someone still breathing, or realizing the lone survivor was none other than Rich, the source of Jeremy’s amusement and Squip’s simulated migraines. Rich was loud. He was loud and he had a short temper and he seemed to forget that the words he said could be heard by others, and once he did remember that the words he said could be heard by others, he didn’t even have the decency to be ashamed.

And he’d been stuck down here with him for three hours.

Rich grimaced a little, as Squip rolled his eyes. “Come on, man, can’t you lift some of this shit off?”

“I am not medically trained. You’re not supposed to disturb the living.” It was one of the first bits of data downloaded for units of his caliber. Squip was designed to find and return the remains left behind by disasters—whether natural or manmade. 

He suspected this act of arson and inevitable building collapse was some sort of accident. Someone leaving a lit cigarette in a trashcan. Someone’s faulty hairdryer or crockpot causing a chain reaction with a spark. But it wasn’t Squip’s job to speculate.

Just as it wasn’t his job to pull bodies from the wreckage if those bodies were still breathing. There were liability issues at play there, a bot overriding orders and going above their station. Besides, what if his actions proved dangerously incompetent and he harmed the living or, god forbid, killed them in the midst of the retrieval? Should that be proven, that was a lawsuit at the very least, and grounds for recycling for the bot.

Squip tried to tell himself it was only the legal consequences he feared. And maybe he mostly believed that.

“I won’t tell.” Rich’s teeth grit together. “Who knows how long it’ll take someone to get down here anyway.”

“Perhaps I should go and-”

“No!” Rich’s hand, the one that wasn’t pinned under the destroyed remains of what had been homes for dozens of families, reached out, taking Squip’s wrist. Rich’s skin was hot, feverish, and Squip recoiled from it. His fingers loosened, but his tone remained as pinched and desperate. “Don’t leave. Okay?”

Squip sighed. “Fine. But you need to be quiet.”

He sat beside Rich, counting down the minutes until another hour passed. Almost like clockwork himself, Rich sighed, an exaggerated little sound.

“This really sucks.”

“Jeremy is going to be livid,” Squip said, elbow resting casually against the flat surface of the biggest slab on Rich’s body, his chin in his hand. “He keeps telling me I need to stop working so much.”

“He worries about you.” Rich managed a smile. Blood continued to drip from his nose, a small trickle that Squip was certain had stopped earlier. “You’re a total fuckin’ workaholic and he wants you home more. You ever take a vacation?”

“There’s too much to do. When things slow down-”

“Shit, dude, if you’re waiting for that, you’re going to be waiting forever.”

“I don’t need to be lectured by you. Do you even have a job?”

“I’m working on my book, man! A science fiction odyssey about a hologram and-”

“I truly do not care. In fact, I cannot think of a single subject I could care about any less than that. What makes you think you can even write a book?”

“Uh, because I’m writing one. Duh.” Rich coughed for a moment, face scrunched up in pain, his free hand moving to cover his mouth instinctively.

“You’re supposed to cough into your elbow.”

Still coughing, Rich lifted his shaky hand, formingit into a fist, aside from his extended middle finger.

“Charming.”

“Fuck off, bro.” Rich dropped his arm weakly. “Can you please take some of these off me?”

“No.”

“Fine.” His lips formed into a circle, as he began to whistle. Squip’s audio processors began to click into place.

“Moon River?” He questioned. And then, with a tired sigh. “What is with you and Audrey Hepburn?”

Rich finally stopped whistling. The quiet following the sound made Squip’s skin feel tight and itchy, so much so that he almost felt relieved when Rich started speaking again. “My mom used to sing me that song.”

“From _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t, like, know it at the time, you know?” Rich smiled. “She’d tuck me in—I mean, obviously before she died, this isn’t some ghost shit—and if I was having a bad day, or a good day, or any day really, she’d sing for me.” He laughed. “Her voice was terrible, but I thought it was the prettiest sound in the world, you know?”

“I really don’t care,” Squip tried to get him to stop.

“I thought she wrote it, you know? Just for me. Just for us.”

“That was stupid of you.”

“Maybe. I was five though, I mean, what do you expect? Anyway, obviously she died-”

“What is with you humans and mommy issues?” Because Jeremy certainly had his fair share too, though Squip didn’t believe Mrs. Heere was deceased. Was that the common thread between Jeremy and Rich? The reason for their unlikely friendship?

Why did he take this job? Why was it Squip who’d found himself stuck down here with this sentimental loudmouth?

Rich coughed again. A bit of blood stuck to the corner of his mouth. Something ached inside Squip. He ignored it. Another issue he’d have the technician look into when he went in for his cleaning.

“-she died, and I thought…I mean, I thought I’d never hear it again. That was our song. It was buried with her, you know?”

“No.”

“And I forgot the words anyway, so even if I’d realized it wasn’t hers, it wasn’t like I could search it.” Rich really seemed determined to tell this.

Squip decided to stop interrupting. He reached over, wiping a smear of the blood from Rich’s lip. He smiled briefly, grateful.

“And then, what was it, 8th grade? I was an office aid or something. And I was delivering papers to an English class or what the fuck ever. For the teacher. I don’t remember what.” Rich paused, as though expecting another interruption. When none came, he pressed forward. “And when I went in, the lights were dim, and they had a TV in the classroom. Which, I mean, totally sweet. Who doesn’t love that? Anyway, I gave the teacher the papers, and, like, the prettiest woman I’ve ever goddamn seen was on TV, and-”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was Audrey Hepburn, you know? I was, like, thirteen and I didn’t know jack or shit about old Hollywood. What thirteen year old would?”

They both looked at each other a moment, before saying in unison, “Jeremy.”

Rich giggled a little, which resulted in another coughing fit. Squip managed a faint smile despite himself.

“And?” He supplied when Rich’s coughing stopped, pushing him on through his story.

“Oh. Right. So Audrey’s on the screen, right? And she’s singing it. She’s singing my mom’s song. And yeah, yeah, I know it wasn’t hers, but I hadn’t heard it in years. Years and years, you know? And here it is. It’s real. It was a real song, not just something I imagined. It was insane.”

“You must have been-” What emotion would a human feel in this moment? “-pleased, to have it again.”

“Well…I mean, yeah,” Rich looked contemplative for a moment. “I guess, yeah. But it also felt like something was kinda stolen, you know? Like, here was this deeply personal thing from my childhood, from my mom, someone I’ll never see again, and these bored kids were just sort of staring at it, not even really captivated or anything, just kinda mindlessly consuming. Which, I mean, yeah. I would have been the same without the context. But it felt weird, you know? Almost like a…like a…”

“Violation?”

“A little, yeah.”

Squip wanted to tell him his story was pointless. Meaningless. Insignificant.

But as Rich’s bright eyes stared up at him expectantly, he placed a hand on top of Rich’s own.

And gestured towards the pile of rubble on him.

“Let’s get this off of you.”

Squip stood, grasping at the smallest of the slabs and tossing it off of Rich. Smaller pieces rested underneath, and he picked them away, until Rich’s calves were exposed. The bones were clearly crushed, mangled. But casts existed. He would need some physical therapy, likely, but-

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

-he would survive.

Squip moved up to the next section. Each piece grew steadily heavier, but his body’s metallic insides were formulated to handle this. If he could carry overweight corpses, he could do this.

The last piece snagged.

And before Squip had it up, he knew.

He knew.

Oh, he wished he didn’t know.

“Is it-”

“No, I have it under control.” He stopped him before he could ask if it was bad. Because if Rich actually asked if it was bad, he wasn’t sure if he could lie.

He pushed the slab aside, the underside of it stained red, cracked, a hole through the center of it, crumbled and unceremoniously drilled through.

By the thick, jagged rebar which had pierced from Rich’s back underneath him through his sternum.

The end of the metal was slick with Rich’s blood, and given the proximity to major organs, Squip wasn’t sure if even a professional would be able to extract him without stopping his heart.

“Oh.” Rich breathed. “Oh, that’s bad.”

And Squip was well aware that if he pulled him off the metal himself, he’d bleed out before they left the building.

Rich’s other arm, like his legs, had been crushed beyond movement. But the one that was free moved, shakily, to touch the metal which had pierced through him. He laughed, once, before the sound shattered into a small sob.

“This is really bad.” It was childish and frightened, and Squip grabbed Rich’s hand, pulling it away. He squeezed it, once, twice. He was so warm. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips.

“I’m going to go get-”

“No!” This time, he was even more desperate than the first time, as he grabbed Squip’s hand once more. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me! I don’t want to be alone when I…when I…”

His eyes squeezed shut. 

And as he exhaled, he was laughing again, eyes fluttering back open and staring up at the ceiling. His hand was still locked with Squip’s. “I never even saw it, you know?”

“What?” Did he mean he’d never seen this coming? How could he? How could he have expected this, if Squip himself hadn’t expected it?

Squip had been so caught up in someone being alive that he’d nearly forgotten why he was sent into these sites in the first place. 

He never left a job with any sense of hope.

“ _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_. I never even saw the movie.” He laughed again, as tears left streaks in the smoke on his face. The room still felt stifling, though the fire had been extinguished hours before. “I always thought I’d get around to it, but I never…I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Squip looked away. His thumb brushed over Rich’s fingertips. “Yes,” He finally said.

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

Squip’s lips pressed together tightly. His grip tightened as well, though he forced it to relax. The last thing Rich needed was any further pain.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Rich sniffled a little. “I’m sorry I asked what Jeremy sees in you. You’re a good-”

“No, don’t start that right now. I don’t need your last words to be some sappy drivel.”

“I guess you’re right.” Rich smiled at him for just a moment. The look faltered, as another wave of pain contorted his features. Voice quivering in fear, he asked, “Do you know it?”

“What?”

“The lyrics.”

“To your mother’s song?”

Rich’s face relaxed. “My mother’s song. Right.” His lips turned into a smile, and Squip was starting to understand how Jeremy could be his friend. Oh, how was he going to explain this failure to Jeremy? “Do you know it? The words?”

“I’m not much of a singer.”

“Neither was she.”

Squip sighed. “She sang it to you at night, correct? A lullaby?”

“Yeah.”

Squip brushed his fingers through Rich’s hair with his free hand. His voice came out more tender than he realized he’d ever been programmed to speak. “Close your eyes. I’ll sing you to sleep.”

Rich’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, before he obeyed. Squip swallowed past the lump in his throat, as he began to sing.


End file.
